


A New Chance

by shadowmaat



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, M/M, Mace Windu holds a grudge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 09:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14830025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowmaat/pseuds/shadowmaat
Summary: Boba Fett went to prison at age 12 for trying to kill Jedi Master Mace Windu. This time around there was no chance for him to escape and this time the Jedi survived, leaving Mace around to keep Boba's life complicated. Now 24, Boba has adapted to prison life, but that changes when the guards give him a new cellmate named Han.





	A New Chance

Boba was doing chin-ups when he heard the familiar rattle of a stun baton being dragged along the bars of his cell and Durst’s reedy voice calling out.

“Hey, Killer! Got some fresh meat for ya!”

He ignored it. Ignored, too, the richer drawl of the fresh meat.

_ “Look, I’m telling you! There’s been a mistake! I didn’t do-” _

There’s a crackle and his protest ends in a yelp as Durst uses the baton on him.

“Quiet, Fresh Meat!”

The door unlocked with a clank and there was a meaty sound of someone hitting the floor before the lock re-engaged.

Boba ignored that, too, staring at a discolored spot on the wall as he continued his chin-ups.

“Try and let this one last longer than a day, Killer!” Durst taunted.

Boba knows better than to rise to the bait. Durst lives for the chance to use his baton on someone. For any reason. And since this is Kazbek, home to the worst criminals in the galaxy, he gets away with it.

The bars rattled again. “See ya later, Fresh Meat,” Durst called. “If you live that long!”

Laughing, he gave the bars a final smack and then left Boba alone with his new roommate.

There’s a soft groan behind him and the sound of dragging.

“Kriff! Nice guy, huh?”

He did more chin-ups. He’s nearing the end of his rep, though, and wonders if he should do squats next or maybe inverted sit-ups.

“So, ah, you’re Killer, right? Let me guess, that’s just an affectionate nickname and you’re really only in here for, uh, pickpocketing? Trying to jack an aircar?”

Boba released the bar, landing on his bare feet with ease. He could still remember a time when he hadn’t been tall enough to reach no matter how hard he jumped. Back in the days when he’d just been a stupid 12 year old with too much anger and not enough sense. Back when his full nickname had been “Jedi Killer” and  _ that _ had been the joke because he’d failed.

He decided to do squats since inverted sit-ups might look like showing off… and would also require him to turn and see his new roommate. He heard a sharp intake of breath and a muttered “kriff me” as he started, but doesn’t glance back to see what Fresh Meat’s problem was.

“Top bunk’s mine,” was the only concession he made at conversation as he continued his squats.

“Top… Oh! Right! Yeah, uh, okay!”

The Fresh Meat is far too talkative for Boba’s taste, which is probably why Durst dumped him in here.

“I’m… I’m Han, by the way” Fresh Meat says. “I haven’t killed anyone, either. And I didn’t do any of those other things they said I did, either! I was working with a team and they set me up!”

Fresh Meat- or Han, apparently- sounded outraged. Whether it was because no one believed his lie or because he was telling the truth and was really that stupid, Boba didn’t care. Really. Han would be moved out eventually once Durst and his cronies had finished having their fun and Boba could go back to his life of solitude. And quiet.

Oh sure, technically he had a parole hearing in a month, but he already knew what the result would be: they’d hem and haw and bring up every bad thing he’d ever done before moving on to his most recent behavior and how he’d “improved.” They’d dangle freedom before him like a sweetcake and then, just as he’d done at every parole hearing since Boba was 12, Mace Kriffing Windu would stand up to argue against his release and that would be the end of it. Back to the caverns he’d go. Same as he had for the past 12 years. Kriffing Jedi.

Han was winding down about his “team” and all their faults just as Boba was finishing his squats.

“Anyway, uh, enough about me. How about you,  _ Killer?” _ He put an odd emphasis on the name. “Ladykiller? Killer of conversations? You really expect me to call you that?”

There was no hope for it. Boba turned, facing Han for the first time. His new and very temporary roommate was as young as he sounded. Waves of brown hair framed a face that was still somewhat rounded on the edges. His skin was pale and his clothes were rumpled and grubby with unidentified stains. His eyes widened, mouth dropping open as he got his first good look at Boba.

“Oh,” he said, and fell silent for the first time since being dumped in the cell.

Boba walked towards him, maintaining eye contact, and could see color blooming in those too-soft cheeks.

They were close to the same height, a fact that became even more evident as he stopped inches away from Han and leaned past him to retrieve his shirt from the bunk.

“Boba,” he said, ignoring the way Han’s eyes kept darting towards his mouth.

“Whuh?”

Boba stepped back, pulling the shirt over his head. “My name. Boba Fett. Don’t get used to it,” he added. “You won’t be here that long.”

“Oh yeah? Think I’ll get out?” His grin was bright and easy. “Maybe I’ll pull some strings and see if you can come, too.”

Was he  _ flirting _ with him? Seriously? Shaking his head Boba used the lower bunk to climb into his own.

“Keep telling yourself that, Fresh Meat. Dreams die fast here in Kazbek.”

“You’re a clone, aren’t you?”

Ah. There it was. He closed his eyes, ignoring the question.

“How come the Jedi haven’t bailed you out? Don’t you two go together like-”

_ “The Jedi are the reason I’m here!” _ Boba rolled onto his side, presenting his back to Han. Anger simmered in his veins and he did his best to control it. The last thing he needed now was more demerits on his record. 

“Kriff. Sorry. Uh, yeah, okay, I’ll just sit down here then, huh?”

The thin mattress on the lower bunk wheezed as Han sat on it. Boba took a few more deep breaths and relaxed. Most of the people who came through Kazbek had strong survival instincts. This Fresh Meat wouldn’t last long with a mouth like that. Not that it was his problem. The sooner he was gone the happier Boba would be.

Much to his surprise Han actually managed to stay quiet. The sitting didn’t last long, though, and Boba could hear him moving around their small cell, poking at everything. He was definitely going to have a short lifespan once he hit the rest of the facility. Boba tuned him out and went to sleep.

Morning arrived with the snap-hiss of all the lights switching on at full power and the grinding buzz of the alarms. Loud cussing followed by a body hitting the floor reminded him that he still had a roommate. He dropped to his feet, ignoring the lump of tangled limbs and fraying blanket, and used the toilet in the corner of the cell before standing at attention by the cell door.

The Fresh Meat managed to be more or less upright when the guard, Sissk this time, arrived. Boba ignored the abuse Sissk threw at him but Han, of course, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. By the time they reached the showers he’d earned six demerits and had a few new bruises to show off. He also kept trying to draw Boba into a conversation, pausing only as Boba stripped down and entered the showers.

“Uh, you’re kidding right? No individual stalls?”

Rancis Offal lifted her snout. “Do I smell Fresh Meat?”

The call went down the line as the residents of Block 327 “welcomed” Han. Boba concentrated on lathering up and getting clean; it wasn’t as if they were given much time to do it and he was only responsible for himself.

The hoots and catcalls alerted him that Han had finally given up and entered the showers, sidling into the free spot beside Boba. He gave his temporary roommate a casual look-over. His pale skin had turned a blotchy red all over and while he was trying not to be obvious about shielding himself from his audience his efforts failed. How in the kriff had someone like this wound up on a place like Kazbek?

Boba shook his head; not his business. Han inched a little closer and he allowed it. The softness in his face was mostly gone from the rest of his body; whatever he’d been doing before he got caught, he’d stayed in fairly good shape. Boba could see a few faint scars and the marks of a tattoo before he looked away again.

Breakfast was another trial. For both of them. The hazing continued and Han all but attached himself to Boba’s side. That put  _ him _ in the line of fire, too, and sometimes required intervention. Intervention that was not helped at all by Han’s apparent inability not to sass off. If the other inmates didn’t kill him Boba might wind up doing the job himself. He was convinced it was some kind of test. Or punishment. Through it all and the day that followed it he kept reminding himself that it didn’t matter, it wasn’t his problem, Han would be gone soon, and that he was under no obligation to get involved. And yet…

And yet somehow it kept happening. He wasn’t  _ defending _ Han, not exactly; the Fresh Meat had a few more scrapes and bumps by the time they made it back to their cell, but nothing brutal happened and there were times when he found himself explaining things or offering advice. Han didn’t always listen, but he smiled at Boba and thanked him. He wasn’t sure he could remember the last time anyone here had bothered with words like “please” and “thank you.”

The second day started much like the first. Han was still there in the morning and still followed him back that night. Boba kept waiting for the guards to haul him off to his own cell or to pair him with another inmate, but two days turned into three and then it was a week and then it was a month and Han was still there. Boba wasn’t sure what to make of it. He’d spent so many years isolated from the rest of the prisoners that having someone in his space all the time took a lot of getting used to, especially when that someone was Han.

Even prison didn’t do much to erase that smile of his. Or his sense of humor. The day he actually laughed at one of Han’s stupid jokes was the day he realized just how much trouble he was in. The unshielded delight in Han’s eyes only made it worse.

“I win!” he crowed, and then in a softer voice added “You have a beautiful laugh.”

Boba’s heart was already beating too fast. He backed away, trying to shut off his feelings again, but it didn’t help. He spent the next day avoiding Han to no avail and then the day after that was his parole hearing.

Han, naturally, insisted on attending. Boba wasn’t looking forward to having him witness his humiliation but nothing he said could dissuade him and so there he sat, watching the proceedings with apparent interest. The Jedi bastard Mace Windu was there, too, of course. He slipped into the back of the room with his clone Guardian and stood there. Waiting.

The script didn’t deviate much from previous years. His crimes were mentioned, his appointed lawyer pleaded his case, and there was discussion of the “progress” he’d made since their last meeting. The only difference was that Han, somehow, got added to the evidence that he was “rehabilitated.” Having a cellmate, and one that he’d “taken under his care” appeared to prove that he might be ready to rejoin society. The comments were more favorable than he’d ever heard them. He risked a glance at Han, who winked and gave him an unsubtle thumbs up.

Despite everything, and even with kriffing Windu lurking the back of the room like a carrion deathbird, Boba felt a small frisson of hope. It lasted until Windu stood to approach the judges.

“Honored beings of the panel,” he started.

Boba sank down in his chair and closed his eyes against a sudden pain as the Jedi began his speech warning of the “dangers” of letting a potential murderer loose in the galaxy. It was always the same. Boba was a threat no matter how much he pretended to change, and pretending was all he did. Deep down he still had the heart of a killer, just like the man he called his father. Given the chance he’d still try and cut down Mace where he stood.

The worst part was, he was right. Boba grimaced, hunching his shoulders against the truth. If he had a chance he would kill Mace Windu, although it was no longer just about avenging his father’s death. No, Windu had provided more than enough other reasons for Boba to hate him. Not that he could ever say as much. And not that it would work in his favor if he did.

“Are you kriffing kidding me?”

Han’s voice cut through Windu’s speech. Boba’s eyes snapped open and he looked over to see his cellmate scowling at Windu.

“Prisoner Solo,” Judge V’lenn admonished. “You have no right to speak at these proceedings. Be silent or you will be removed.”

“Yeah, fine,” Han said. “But only if this joker gets removed, too!” He gestured at Windu.

Boba’s heart hammered. He wanted to warn Han against doing… whatever it was he thought he was doing. Speaking up would only make things worse and would torpedo his own eventual chance at parole. Windu turned to face Han.

“Young man, I understand your loyalty to your  _ friend,” _ he said, the quotes around the last word almost visible, “but what you fail to understand is-”

“Oh, I think I understand just fine.” Han crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his chair back. “You’re here to make sure Boba doesn’t go free because for all your high talk of dangerousness and vendettas it seems like you’re carrying a pretty damn big grudge yourself.”

Windu drew himself up to his full height and Boba was sure he could feel the temperature drop a degree or two.

“The Jedi do not hold grudges.”

“Oh yeah? You sure you’re a Jedi, then?”

V’lenn slapped his hand on the table. “Enough! Prisoner Solo, you are out of line!”

“I helped bring the war to its end,” Windu said, “and I will not-”

The doors to the room exploded inward, momentarily deafening Boba. He was aware of Windu igniting his saber and of the clone Guardian firing his blaster into the smoke. Someone was firing back, too, and the Guardian went down.

The smoke cleared to reveal a black human male in a red shimmersilk shirt and black slacks standing in the doorway along with a worn-looking scrap-heap of a droid, both of them wielding blasters.

“Han, you sly bastard!” The man grinned. “You’re a hard man to track down, you know that?”

“Lando?” Han appeared to be gaping at him.

“SECURE THE PRISONERS!” V’lenn shouted.

“Don’t let Fett escape!” Windu waved his hand and Boba found himself pressed into his seat, unable to move.

“You ready to go, baby?” The man, Lando, asked.

Boba felt a surge of jealousy. Blaster fire continued as the droid, who was shouting about sentient rights and corrupt governments, kept Windu occupied. The judges and lawyer were busy cowering behind an overturned table.

Han laughed. “I thought you’d never ask!”

Everything in Boba seemed to rattle and shake loose. He waited for Han to leave with his rescuers, but instead found a smile aimed his way.

“Come on, Boba,” Han said. “Our ride is here!”

“Him?” Lando frowned. “I wasn’t planning for any extra passengers.”

“Give up now!” Windu demanded. “You can’t escape!”

Boba struggled against the invisible force binding him to his chair. Han looked from him to the Jedi and back.

“Hey, Elthree,” he said. “I think the Jedi misses his Guardian!”

The droid, who’d been dual-wielding, holstered one blaster. “I always did like happy reunions!” 

It reached down, grabbed the unconscious Guardian, and tossed him at Windu, who immediately deactivated his saber and moved to catch him.

“Ponds!”

The distraction worked. Boba felt the pressure release him and launched himself in Han’s direction. The four of them scrambled through the wreckage and Boba felt someone press a blaster into his hand.

The world seemed to freeze. He turned, lifting the blaster to point it at the Jedi who’d made it his mission to ruin Boba’s life. Everything faded down to his sightline. Windu looked up and their eyes met. It would be so simple. One shot. The kriffing Jedi didn’t have his saber or his Guardian to protect him. He could see that same knowledge reflected in Windu’s eyes, too. He turned and raced after Han.

Reinforcements had arrived, but somehow they all made it onto Lando’s ship, hovering off a nearby balcony. The ship took some hits, but coordinates had already been locked in and as soon as they left atmosphere they jumped to hyper.

Han, Lando, and even the droid cheered, exchanging hugs. Boba stood back, blaster still in a white-knuckle grip as he tried to process everything that had happened. He’d never felt so lost.

“So,” Lando said at last. “Only gone a month and you’ve already replaced me with an almost-prettier model, huh?” He smiled at Boba.

“I wouldn’t call it replacing,” Han said, “but Boba is… he’s, uh, special.”

“Ugh, more flirting,” Elthree complained.

Han blushed. “It’s not like that. Really.”

Boba wasn’t good at feelings. Sex in Kazbek was more of a commodity than part of a relationship. He didn’t know where he stood with Han. Or where Han stood with Lando. He didn’t know anything. But what he felt was freedom. For the first time since he was a child, he was free. And he was facing the man who’d helped make it possible. The one who’d made him laugh. The one who’d listened to his stories when he’d finally told them. The one who hadn’t left him behind.

He crossed the room to where Han was sitting against a dejarik table and leaned past him to put the blaster down. Their faces were inches away and Han’s eyes were darting towards his lips again.

“It could be like that,” Boba said. “If you want.”

The kiss that followed was intense and far more tender than anything he’d ever experienced. Maybe it was the start of something new. And maybe that was a good thing. For once, he was willing to believe.


End file.
